


to steal your heart

by brujay



Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Basically, Fluff and Humor, M/M, RPF, Sharing Clothes, Swearing, just in case!, or stealing clothes?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:23:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9218930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brujay/pseuds/brujay
Summary: Kyle considered himself to be quite a reasonable guy, so he shrugged off any losses to his wardrobe with relative ease and bought replacements when he had to. It wasn't like it cost him more than he could afford and it wasn't a major inconvenience; that wasn't theissue.The issue was that Kyle had actually become quite attached to certain items of clothing, particularly in the case of some of his favourite t-shirts, and it was a bit of a let-down to go looking for one and come up empty-handed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I miss the bandom days when you could go on LJ and find like 20 new fics a day. Here is my contribution, anyway.
> 
> Kindly betaed by [killeleanor](http://archiveofourown.org/users/killeleanor), who isn't even in the fandom! Thank you and I'm sorry. :')
> 
> Find me on tumblr if you want at [thebadrobin](http://thebadrobin.tumblr.com)!
> 
> edit: the title is from the song [Thieving](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_rmveFQ9-zM) by Lovedrug, for no other reason than it being my fave (and the theme of thievery too I guess).

The thing was, Kyle was getting a bit fed up.

It had all started a few months ago during the lead up to the release of their new album, or at least that's when he had begun to notice that something was amiss in the first place. He'd written it off as an irritating but generally harmless inevitability of life on tour – who hadn't lost the odd sock or t-shirt here and there? It was practically guaranteed when you were living out of a suitcase, packing up every night before moving on to the next city.

Kyle considered himself to be quite a reasonable guy, so he shrugged off any losses to his wardrobe with relative ease and bought replacements when he had to. It wasn't like it cost him more than he could afford and it wasn't a major inconvenience; that wasn't the _issue_.

The issue was that Kyle had actually become quite attached to certain items of clothing, particularly in the case of some of his favourite t-shirts, and it was a bit of a let-down to go looking for one and come up empty-handed.

“Will!” he called on one such occasion, sticking his head into the bus lounge where said man was scrolling idly through his newsfeed. “Have you seen my kitten t-shirt lying around?”

Will looked up, smiling wryly as he locked his phone and tossed it onto the sofa next to him. “Which one?” he wondered. “You only have about twenty of them.”

“The lovely yellow one, obviously.”

They'd had a day off in the last city and he and Dan had taken the opportunity to hunt down a shoe store he'd read about – Dan's main reason for tagging along had been his fascination with a secret shoe store they'd recently visited, which had been hidden behind a disguised door in a bodega. The lack of a similar gimmick had left him quietly disappointed despite his best efforts to appear to remain enthusiastic.

Kyle, on the other hand, had found himself two new pairs of trainers, one of which was highlighted by a fluorescent yellow trim that was sure to look cool as fuck when paired with this specific t-shirt. Regrettably, he was yet to actually locate it and to be honest, it was starting to piss him off a bit.

Sure, with their changing image he hadn't worn it for a while, but surely he would have noticed if it had got lost somewhere along the way?

“Can't say I've seen it, mate,” sighed Will as he heaved himself up from the sofa, jolting Kyle out of his thoughts. He offered him a conciliatory pat on the shoulder as he moved past, sliding his phone into his jacket pocket. “Maybe it's a sign.”

Kyle huffed, feigning offence, but smiled at Will's fading chuckle as he heard him get off the bus. His smile dimmed as he let out a sigh, resigning himself to another black t-shirt day. It would turn up eventually.

* * *

“Shit,” Kyle cursed, bending down to rub at his ankle for the nth time that day.

He'd overslept that morning as a result of 1) conveniently forgetting about the full day of promotion they had scheduled and 2) living on a bus full of _absolute knobs_ who didn't bother to wake him until they were ready to leave “ _right now_ , Kyle, we'll be late as it is,” and were entirely unhelpful when he realised that he had no clean socks to wear – despite the fact that he had only done a wash less than a week ago and should really have had enough left to last another week at least!

Under pressure and half-asleep, he had made the appalling decision to go sockless and _wow_ was he feeling the consequences. He was still breaking in his trainers and as a result they were rubbing against his bare heels, helped along by the sweat brought on by the heat of the day.

Basically he was in hell and he didn't appreciate his bandmates' sniggering.

“Honestly,” Woody proclaimed, “you could have just borrowed some of mine.” He pulled open the door of the tour bus, allowing the others to step in ahead of him.

“It's a bit late for that now, thanks! I've been in agony all day!” Kyle flopped down on one of the lounge sofas, hissing as he slid off a trainer and prodded dubiously at his inflamed heel. He watched plaintively as Dan kicked off his boots before starting to putter around with mugs in the kitchenette, setting about making tea. “You'll all feel bad when I have to have a little stool set up behind my synth 'cause I've lost the use of my feet,” he warned, sniffing as he accepted Woody's proffered pair of socks, retrieved from God knows where.

He'd just finished gingerly smoothing the second sock over his abused ankle when a chipped blue mug was shoved in his face. Flailing a bit, he only narrowly managed to catch hold of it before Dan was slumping down beside him, his own drink cradled between his hands.

“Don't worry,” he intoned from behind the curve of his mug, taking a long sip and settling his feet up on the table before continuing, “we'd find a replacement and kick you out way before it ever got to that point.”

Kyle breathed a laugh despite himself, leaning forward to set his tea on the table next to Dan's feet while it cooled down. “Well,” he began, but his eyes caught on something before he could finish his thought. “... _are those my fucking socks!?_ ”

* * *

Kyle was eventually able to forgive Dan for the sock-stealing incident ( _“I'm sorry, I thought they were mi – hey, what are you – Kyle, let go! What the fuck!”_ ) – wrestling them off Dan's feet in revenge had made it much easier, truth be told. Maybe it wasn't his smoothest move, a stray elbow knocking his tea from its place cooling on the table, soaking Kyle's hoodie and the leg of Dan's jeans, but he had offered to do the laundry as a gesture of goodwill so all in all Kyle couldn't complain about the way things had turned out.

He _could_ , however, complain about the steady stream of disappearing clothes. His missing kitten t-shirt still hadn't shown up, which irked him, but over the past couple of months he'd continued to notice things going missing and honestly it was starting to mess with his head. On hotel nights he'd pack and repack his bag or waste time scouring the room for things he might have forgotten.

Other than that, he was mostly just confused. It wasn't like he was running out of things to wear; he probably would have just shrugged it off if he hadn't specifically wanted to wear some of the missing items (or if he wasn't also running suspiciously low on underwear). The real issue was the question of what was happening to them.

“I mean, really,” he complained over breakfast one day as he slathered a piece of toast with butter, “where the hell are they going? I never move my suitcase anymore, I always check to make sure I'm not leaving things behind... it's driving me mad! I am going mad from this.” He took a violent bite of his toast, chewing mulishly.

Woody swallowed his mouthful of cornflakes and leant forwards, grinning mischievously. “Hey, you never know, maybe you've got a little stalker – following us around city to city, sneaking on to the bus, rummaging through your things...”

“Must be really into you to be nicking your boxers as well. Giving them a good sniff, maybe.” Will paused to snicker and was interrupted by a clatter of cutlery as Dan dropped his spoon across the table from him. “You alright there?” he teased, lips quirking up at one corner.

“Fine,” he choked, passing a hand back through his hair and busying himself with his recently refilled coffee.

Kyle spared a moment of concern for his markedly reddened face (hopefully he wasn't coming down with something right before a busy run of festivals) before rolling his eyes at Woody and Will. “Really, though. What's going on?”

“I don't know mate, I think Woody's got a point,” Will offered, his eyes dancing. “How can you be sure there isn't someone purposely taking your things? There _are_ quite a few people who would have the opportunity.”

Kyle frowned. The conversation moved on as Dan questioned Woody about potential changes to his drum setup but Kyle ended up tuning most of it out now that he had something new to ponder over.

* * *

Now that he was thinking of it in the context of a person actively choosing to take his things, everything made a lot more sense.

Kyle sighed from his position lying down on the dressing room sofa. Ostensibly he had been scrolling through his Twitter mentions, interacting with the fans, but at some point between sneaking glances at Dan on the other side of the room he had given up the pretence and was now unreservedly watching him. It wasn't like he would notice, absorbed as he was with his notebook.

His eyes traced the curve of Dan's wrist as he scribbled away and he let his mind wander.

Things may have made more sense, but Woody's joking had posed even more questions. If someone was stealing his clothes, then why? They clearly weren't doing it to wear them, or someone would have seen and told him. And who the hell was doing it anyway?

He watched distractedly as Dan stretched his arms above his head, rearranging his long legs in front of him.

Kyle couldn't say he'd got any particular vibes off anyone on the crew, so that theory was out. Was someone doing it to take the piss then? It had been going on for a while now – he'd have thought anyone playing a prank on him would have lost interest or owned up to it by now. But he supposed he couldn't rule it out. Shit, he hoped he didn't actually have a stalker.

Dan was standing up now, his back turned to Kyle, shrugging into his – no, Kyle's? – hoodie. Come _on_.

“That hoodie looks familiar, Dan,” he mused as he stood, raising an eyebrow as Dan's back went stiff. “Looks like one of mine that went missing a couple of months back.”

Dan glanced down jerkily, sliding it off his arms. “So it does,” he agreed after a moment, turning to face Kyle and holding it out to him. “Must have put it in with my stuff after washing it – I'm sure you remember the tea spilling incident.”

“Right, of course,” Kyle nodded, mind reeling at this new development. It had, after all, only even come about as a result of him yanking a pilfered pair of his own socks off Dan's feet. He accepted the hoodie and bundled it up under his arm just to have something to do with his hands.

Having perhaps expected a more spirited response, Dan stood awkwardly for a moment before flipping his notebook closed and heading for the door. “We're on soon, so I'm off to find the others. See you in a bit, yeah?”

“Cool, yeah, okay,” Kyle muttered as he closed the door behind him, sinking back down onto the sofa.

_Huh_.

* * *

The gig that night went well, considering Kyle spent most of it lost in thought. Could Dan be the mysterious clothes thief? What possible reason could he have for it? He wasn't really interested in the long game when it came to committing to a joke and, according to the fans, it wasn't like he didn't have enough iconic looks of his own.

As he watched Dan wander about engaging the fans, the idea became less and less likely in his mind. By the time they were walking off stage he'd brushed it off as a random coincidence; two minor, easily explainable instances didn't mean anything.

_Still though_ , he thought to himself as Dan squeezed him on the shoulder on his way back to the dressing room, _something to think about_.

* * *

Over the next couple of weeks he didn't really have cause to think about it at all. Nothing else had gone missing, as far as he could tell, and it had settled his mind somewhat.

They were at this after party type thing in someone's flat after their Glasgow gig and Kyle, feeling lighter than he had in a while, had readily seized the opportunity to get well and truly pissed.

So, it seemed, had the others. From his place against the wall he caught sight of Woody swaying deliriously in time to the music and shared a grin with the girl he had been half-heartedly chatting up for the past half an hour. Shaking his head fondly, he took a long pull from his beer bottle and cast his eyes over the room.

He paused.

There was Dan in the corner, drooping slightly despite his obvious efforts to keep dancing and indeed remain standing. Ignoring the brief flutter in his chest, Kyle excused himself and made quick work of manoeuvring through the crowd to get over to him.

“Kyle!” Dan exclaimed as he saw him approach, flinging his bottle of tequila in the air in greeting. Hastily, Kyle grabbed hold of the neck of the bottle as well as Dan's bicep, steadying them both.

“Here I am!” he agreed, staring for a moment before belatedly releasing his grip. Dan frowned and stumbled forwards a bit into Kyle's chest, settling an arm around his waist. “Jesus, how much have you had?” he wondered rhetorically, though Dan mumbled something incoherent in response anyway.

“'Mtired,” he complained, “take me hooome, Kyle...” – even as he took another swig from the tequila clutched against his chest. “I need to – to _tell_ you...”

Kyle scanned the room for someone who might remember where the bus was actually parked but came up blank. Shit, he'd had a decent amount to drink himself.

“Alright, well,” he reasoned, “how about I take you – take you over to that sofa there, and we sit down and – sober up a bit, yeah?” Then maybe someone would come and find them and no one would have to know he'd forgotten the way to the bus.

Dan was nodding along, so Kyle steered them in the direction of the aforementioned sofa and collapsed onto it, bringing Dan happily down with him.

“You know,” Dan began, stringing his words together in that careful way unique to those trying to pretend they're much less drunk than they actually are, “you and me. Are such good friends.”

“Yes we _are_ , Dan,” Kyle affirmed, fond.

“We're on the road, we're... basically... we live out,” _hic!_ “of each other's pockets, so... ugh.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “It doesn't even matter, that I... that I...”

Sensing his distress, Kyle nudged him with his shoulder and offered a placatory smile. “Hey, don't worry, go on.”

Dan gazed at him, baleful eyes boring into Kyle's before he shut them and groaned, slouching further down in his seat and dropping his head back onto Kyle's shoulder in defeat. He was muttering to himself but Kyle could only pick out a few things over the music – something about “pathetic” and “fucking prick”, but he didn't take it personally. Just patted Dan on the thigh in solidarity, letting his hand linger only for a minute before plucking the tequila from his slackened grip and setting it down just out of reach.

He grinned down at Dan at his grunt of protest, trying not to jostle him too much as he settled in to the sofa a bit more. From here he had a pretty decent view of his drunken friends scattered around the room. A night cuddled up to Dan gathering blackmail material on their crew and other bandmates? He accepted the direction his night had taken all too gladly.

* * *

Eventually, but not before Kyle had enjoyed his fill of watching his mates be idiots, the party died down as people began to leave. He caught sight of some of the guys putting on their coats and nudged Dan, who had dozed off against his side.

He awoke with a small jolt, eyelids blinking heavily a few times before his fixed his sleepy gaze on Kyle, expectant.

“Time to head off, mate,” Kyle explained. He sighed theatrically as Dan's forehead creased in consternation, dragging him up alongside him and gently but swiftly urging him across the room to the others.

The trek back to the bus was less tedious than expected, especially now that Dan had perked up a bit and they could joke together along the way.

Once inside, though, Kyle was fully ready to pass out, and it wasn't until he was already drifting off sprawled on his bunk that he wondered what Dan could have been trying to tell him earlier.

* * *

The night before a blurry haze in his mind, Kyle found himself on the hunt again – shockingly not for missing clothes this time, but instead for his iPad.

He'd spent most of the morning sleeping off a mild hangover, rolling out of bed at around one for lunch. He'd chatted with the guys for a bit, but Dan had evaded Kyle's attempts to strike up a conversation. He tried not to worry too much about Dan's skittishness and only hoped he hadn't said anything too weird last night.

He'd eventually decided he wanted to catch up on some TV, but his issue now was that he had no idea what he'd done with his iPad. Frustrated, he stomped back into the main lounge, finding Woody and Will engaged in a heated game of hangman. Will was frowning as Woody finished off the drawing, cementing Will's loss.

“Not to sound like a broken record...” Kyle trailed off as Woody snorted.

“What's your stalker had this time?” he joked. “One of your rings?”

“Your toothbrush?” That was Will.

“A particularly beloved pair of trainers?”

“Alright, alright,” Kyle cut them off. “I just wanted to know if either of you had seen my iPad. I gave up looking all that hard for lost clothes a while back.”

Will straightened in his seat. “Actually...” He drew the word out, a glint in his eye. “I think I saw Dan using it this morning. He's in the back writing, so I wouldn't disturb him; you might as well just go looking for it in his bunk.”

Kyle shrugged agreeably. It couldn't hurt to look.

He made his way over to the bunks and crouched down low next to Dan's, drawing back the curtain and glancing in. Aha! There it was, resting atop the pillow.

As he grabbed for it, it snagged on the edge of Dan's scarf, which had for some reason been partially wrapped around the pillow, tugging it out of place and almost onto the floor. In his haste to return it to its rightful place, he almost missed what had been hidden underneath.

“What the fuck,” he mumbled to himself as he stared down at his long lost yellow kitten t-shirt. Disbelieving, he lifted it up to get a better look, only to reveal another t-shirt underneath and, stuffed behind that, several pairs of patterned socks that he distinctly remembered buying for himself. His eyebrows, which had been gradually creeping upwards, climbed even higher upon spotting that his – fuck – his “stalker” _had indeed_ been taking his underwear as well.

Shit.

_Dan?_

What did this even – Kyle froze as someone stumbled at the entrance to the bunks and he glanced up to see – who else? There stood Dan, ashen-faced as he took in his friend's position.

“What the fuck, Kyle,” he got out, monotone, after an excruciatingly awkward moment of tense silence. “Why the hell are you going through my things.” His voice was beginning to waver.

He looked like he was going to be sick.

Kyle floundered, clueless as to what to say. Honestly, he was still trying to process what he was seeing. All he could do was gape at him.

Obviously the wrong thing to do, if Dan's increasingly anguished expression was anything to go by. Kyle watched as he exhaled shakily before turning and hurrying back the way he'd come. The door to the back room closed behind him with a resounding thud and the telltale click of the lock sliding into place.

Kyle crouched there motionless for a minute, processing, before straightening back up and stepping mindlessly back into the lounge where Will and Woody had abandoned their game.

“Look what turned up,” Will quipped and Kyle glanced down to see that he was still clutching his t-shirt in one hand.

He hadn't sounded overly surprised.

“You knew?”

“Strongly suspected. As in, I bumped into him wearing one of your allegedly missing tops in the middle of the night once and put two and two together.” He cracked a smile. “It was either that or the two of you were already secretly fucking and your 'lost clothes' were some smug euphemism for it, but...”

Woody snorted again.

“A bit far-fetched, yeah,” Will allowed.

“You've got it sorted out now, though?” Woody pressed. “Please say yes, the drama's been killing me.”

“I... no. I don't know. I need to think.”

“What's there to think about? If I'm understanding this right, he's the one who's been taking your stuff – a relief, can I add, 'cause I don't want to know how he'd have dealt with having a rival for your attention – so surely everything's out in the open now you know he's been wanking over your boxers –”

“Don't want to be thinking about Dan wanking, thanks!” Will interrupted, aghast.

“But Kyle obviously does!” Woody exclaimed, gesturing towards Kyle's undoubtedly widened eyes and warm face. “Which is why it's confusing to see him sat across from me when he should by all rights be making that dream a reality.”

Kyle shook his head to clear it. “He... he saw me. I didn't know how to... he's locked himself in the back room.”

“Well, shit,” Will sighed. “You'd better go and fix it then. And sooner rather than later – we do have a show to prepare for once we arrive.”

* * *

 

“Dan, open the door,” he urged, rapping his knuckles against the wood. “Please, I don't know what you're thinking but I'm not – mad, or anything, if that's what you're worried about. Just – let me in, so we can discuss this.”

After his illuminating conversation with Will and Woody, Kyle had dithered for a while, trying to come to terms with things. All the secrecy and misunderstandings considered, it would probably be for the best to get everything out in the open first, and with that thought he'd made his way to the back of the bus, resolute.

“Go away please,” he heard faintly from the other side of the door.

Kyle grimaced. Yep, saw that one coming. “You know I can't do that. Come on, I want – let me in. Please.”

He waited a few seconds, then a few more, and then came the click of the latch being undone. When the door didn't open afterwards, Kyle paused for a moment before pushing it open and stepping inside.

Dan was sat tense in a corner, hand carding ceaselessly through his hair. Kyle seated himself about an arm's length away, angling his body to face Dan.

They sat in silence for a long moment.

“Well?” Dan pushed, voice scratchy. “What did you want to say? That I'm a creep who needs to learn about boundaries? That I've crossed a line? Believe me, I know – I've had a lot of time to come to terms with the kind of person I am.”

Indignation rose within Kyle. “Don't say that. Do you really think I'd ever speak to you like that?” He sighed. “Dan... honestly, I just want to know why.”

“Oh fuck off,” Dan huffed. “Like you haven't already figured it out.”

“Maybe I want to hear it in your words. It's not – I'm not saying this to be cruel, I just really think we need to talk things through.”

Bringing his hands down to his lap and fiddling with them, Dan took a breath. “The first time was an accident. It was just a plain top, but the fit was weird and I realised it was yours.” He closed his eyes. “I don't usually let myself think about how I _feel_ , but – it was good. A comfort. So next time it wasn't an accident, and then I couldn't stop. I never meant for you to _notice_ – oh, what am I saying, of course you were always going to notice. When you started complaining about it... I just tried being more cautious.”

“Will said you'd been wearing them to sleep,” Kyle hedged.

A self-deprecating laugh. “So he _did_ know. And you've all been talking about it.”

“No. Shit, wait,” he back-pedalled, catching hold of Dan's wrist. “That's not what I'm saying, I mean, I – like it?”

“... you like it.”

“I mean, it's a bit of a relief, isn't it? It's one thing that my stuff isn't actually lost forever, but also, I don't have to worry about some overly invested fangirl or creepy old man because – well, it's _you_.”

Dan looked dubious. “And that's better, it being someone you know?”

“Not just someone. You.” With his hold on his wrist, Kyle pulled Dan's hand into his lap and held it between his own. “Like, yeah, it's been stressing me out a bit not knowing what's been going on, but we've all seen how much strain you've been under. If this somehow... _helped_ you with that, then I'm glad.” He hesitated. “You mentioned some feelings, before. I didn't want to assume, with the clothes, but...”

“Yeah,” Dan admitted, “it's probably what you're thinking, but it doesn't –“

“Me too,” Kyle rushed out. “Have feelings, that is. I do, for you.”

He winced. Stellar delivery, there. Proper romantic.

It seemed to have worked on Dan, though, who looked stunned, his hand flexing in Kyle's grip. “Since when?”

“Uhh, low-key since we met?”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Bracing himself in the sudden silence, Kyle edged closer on the sofa. He released his grip on Dan's hand and admired the flush rising in his cheeks as Kyle snaked an arm around his back, drawing him closer to his chest and smiling as he felt Dan's arms come up around his waist in return.

“Why'd you never say anything?” he mumbled into Kyle's chest.

“I could ask you the same!” Kyle squeezed his arm tighter. “You were cool, a bit older. Really passionate about your music, making it _happen_ , too, playing gigs, and fucking gorgeous on top of all that. A bit intimidating. Then we became friends, and I joined the band, and I never... things got away from me.”

Dan pulled away to look at Kyle, then leaned forwards again to rest their foreheads together.

“I honestly didn't think you'd ever be interested,” he confessed, “... which is why I never tried anything. You make me laugh more than anyone and you're a really good mate, so I thought if I pushed it down I'd be fine with just that. Obviously I wasn't coping as well as I'd like to think,” he laughed.

Kyle's heart swelled, and he smiled as he lifted a hand to slide along the line of Dan's neck and tangle in his hair. Dan exhaled, chewing lightly at his lip, and Kyle thrilled as he felt the warm puff of air against his own.

“So it's all out in the open, then,” Dan murmured.

Kyle hummed in agreement, using his grip in Dan's hair to tilt his head slightly before finally, finally closing the distance between them, revelling in the way Dan's hands haltingly came up to smooth over his shoulders. He used his arm around Dan's waist to pull him closer still, sighing into the kiss.

All the stolen looks, the touching, the joking around together and making music and travelling the world – it all culminated in this one moment shared between them in the back room of their tour bus, curled up together, breathing each other's air.

After a while they separated, Dan ducking down to hide his face in Kyle's neck as he caught his breath.

He was quiet for a moment. “So you're really, honestly not freaked out. Like, at all. Because I'm not complaining – obviously – but this really seems almost too good to be true.”

“Nah.” Kyle paused to consider. “I will say though, from now on... if you're that desperate to borrow my underwear you really onlyhavetoaskaaa _aaaahhhh_ don't _bite_ me! I'm sorry, hahahaha!”

He managed to pry a red-faced Dan away from his neck, grinning madly, before leaning back in.

* * *

As Kyle admired his chosen outfit in the mirror the next day (the trainers looked wicked with his yellow cat t-shirt, thanks), he did a double-take and thumbed over the series of faint bite marks running along his neck.

“ _No marks,”_ Dan had warned him the night before, a solemn look on his face, and then he'd gone and done this, the cheeky bastard! What was he going to do about this?

Inspiration struck, and Kyle fought back a grin. He ducked into Dan's bunk and was gratified to see the fateful scarf he'd dislodged the day before was still lying tangled around the pillow.

As he wrapped it around his neck and imagined the look on Dan's face, he couldn't really find it in him to complain about anything at all.

 


End file.
